


A New Beginning

by Diana Williams (dkwilliams)



Category: Here Come the Brides
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/Diana%20Williams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sudden illness and advice from a friend makes Jason Bolt rethink his friendship with sawmill owner, Aaron Stempel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beth H (bethbethbeth)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethbethbeth/gifts).



Lottie Hatfield looked up with a frown as a racking cough sounded from her lone customer, Aaron Stempel. “That doesn’t sound good,” she said as she refilled his coffee cup. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather, Aaron.”

Aaron scowled as he finished his correspondence and sealed it, ready for the mail. “It’s just a cold, Lottie. Don’t fuss.”

“If you ask me, you need someone to fuss over you a little,” she said archly. “One of the brides, maybe. Been here almost three years – would have thought that a man like you would have had his pick of them long before now.”

“I’m too busy for serious courting,” he said briskly. He counted out the coins to pay for his lunch, setting them on the table. “Maybe after I finish the contracts I’ve got – “

“And there will be another contract, and another,” Lottie pointed out, collecting the money. As she put the coins in the till, she said, “If you’re not going to take home a bride, you should expand your friendships.”

“In this town?” Aaron scoffed. “With whom?”

“Well, Jason Bolt, for one. You have a lot in common.” At his raised eyebrows she said, “You both like those fancy books of poetry and such, for example. Most of the folks around here wouldn’t know the difference between Shakespeare and a penny dreadful.”

“True,” Aaron said. “But friends with Bolt? We argue all the time.”

“Like cats and dogs,” Lottie agreed. “Or like an old married couple?”

Aaron started, nearly dropping his coffee cup. The color had drained from his face. “Lottie…”

“You may have most of the people in this town fooled, don’t fool me one bit, Aaron Stempel,” she said, but her voice was gentler than usual. “And you better make sure that Jason Bolt isn’t fooled; you’ll end up a lonely old man if you’re not careful.”

Aaron scoffed at that, which turned into another long coughing bout. Lottie’s frown deepened and he waved her off. “All right, all right. I promise I’ll go home and take it easy.”

Outside the saloon, Aaron untied his horse from the hitching post, then sighed as he realized he couldn’t head home yet. The sawmill workers would need to start on the next contract within the next two days, and he needed to check with Jason… with the Bolts to make sure the logs would be there on time. Otherwise, he’d be paying his crew to sit around and do nothing. He mounted and turned his horse in the direction of the logging camp.

**************  
Jason Bolt cast a weather eye up at the sky, appraising the approaching storm. “Storm coming in, boys,” he said to his brothers and Corky. “Get the men back to camp and the equipment under cover.”

He turned at the sound of a rider coming up the road, not entirely surprised to see Aaron Stempel. They had a delivery scheduled soon, and the sawmill owner was always a bit antsy in advance of it. He ignored the curl of pleasure that settled in his stomach at the sight of the other man.

“Afternoon, Aaron,” he said, striding out to meet him. “What brings you up this way?”

“Just checking on the delivery, Bolt,” Aaron said shortly, thinking that it should have been obvious to even an idiot why he was there. _Like an old married couple_ , he heard Lottie’s voice say mockingly inside his head.

“We’re on schedule,” Jason affirmed, then looked up at the sky where a light drizzle had started. “Even given the weather. The logs will be at the sawmill by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good.” Still with Lottie’s prompting in mind, Aaron thought about saying something else, perhaps an invitation for chess, or brandy and cigars over the latest news from San Francisco, but was derailed by another round of coughing.

Jason frowned. “That doesn’t sound too good, Aaron. Might want to get out of this weather before that gets worse.”

“I’m fine,” Aaron said irritably, rubbing his forehead where a headache was starting to make itself known. “Just make sure that delivery is there _on time_.”

Jason’s frown deepened. Aaron hadn’t been that short with him in nearly a year, not since the bet had been settled. In point of fact, ever since the two of them had worked together to get back Jason’s shanghaied brothers, there had been less antagonism between the two of them. Oh, they still argued but it was more because it was expected and, he had to admit, because it was fun to match wits against each other.

Aaron seemed to have realized that he was out of line. “Sorry, Jason,” he said, grudgingly. “Got this headache that won’t go away. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jason watched as Aaron rode back down the road, concerned as once again the other man was shaken by a fit of coughing. Then his younger brother Joshua called for him, and he turned his attention back to camp business.

***********

Sam, the sawmill foreman, called a halt for the day, sending the men on their way home or, in many cases, down to the saloon. He was closing up for the day when he heard a rider approach, and wasn’t surprised to see his boss dismount outside the office. Mr. Stempel spent most of the work day at the sawmill, working on accounts or supervising the work, and even when other business took him away, he would usually come back by before heading home.

“Evening, Mr. Stempel,” he said, coming out of the office. Stempel dismounted from his horse with unaccustomed slowness, and Sam could see that his boss was drenched to the skin. Given the general weather in Seattle, this was not an unusual occurrence, but what concerned him was that Stempel seemed to stagger for a moment before getting his bearings. But then his boss was striding toward the office with his usual brisk pace so Sam thought he must have imagined it.

“Good evening, Sam,” Stempel returned. “Any problems?”

“No, sir. I’ve left the day report on your desk.”

“Good; I’ll take a look at it before I leave.” Stempel smiled at him. “Go on home before your wife comes looking for you and hands me my head.”

Sam grinned. His wife – one of the first brides to marry - was expecting their second child and her Irish temper was very apparent these days. “Yes, sir. See you in the morning.”

Stempel grunted, already bending over the reports as Sam closed the door and headed briskly down the path toward home. Sam thought he heard coughing from behind him but his mind was already looking forward to his wife’s hot stew so he paid it no heed.

************

It was full dark by the time Aaron extinguished the lamp in his office, locked up, and walked his horse the short distance home. The rainstorm that had briefly let up was now falling in sheets, and although his clothes had dried a little by the warmth of his office stove, by the time he reached home, he was once again soaked to the skin. He made quick work of untacking his horse and bedding it down for the night, then wearily mounted the porch step.

His hands were shaking so hard by now that he could barely light the lamp on the entry table. A coughing fit seized him, seeming to last for several long agonizing minutes before he could catch a breath. He slowly made his way up the stairs, clutching the handrail as a sudden wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. Shaking it off, he staggered into his bedroom, stripped off his sodden clothes, and crawled under the cold sheets of his bed. _A good night’s sleep would put him to rights_ , he thought. _And then he could think about what Lottie had said with a clear head,_ was his last thought before he slipped into oblivion.

***********

The following morning, Jason whistled as he made his way to the sawmill. It was a beautiful day, the kind that followed rain, where the whole world seemed to be washed clean and bright. It was the kind of day that made a man feel glad to be alive, and even gladder to be out in the open, breathing in the crisp clean air that God himself created.

The sawmill foreman greeted him with a smile as he arrived, offering him a cup of coffee. Jason accepted, looking around with surprise when he realized that Aaron was nowhere to be seen.

“Stempel gone into town this morning?” he asked. “I thought he’d be up here, chomping at the bit about our delivery.”

Sam grinned at that but shook his head. “Haven’t seen Mr. Stempel yet this morning, but he didn’t say anything about going into town today when we talked last night.”

Jason frowned at that. “He was feeling a little poorly yesterday afternoon. Perhaps he decided to take the morning off.” Even as he said that, it didn’t seem right. Aaron Stempel was punctual to a fault, and even if he had decided to take a day off, he would have sent his foreman word. An uneasy feeling settled in his gut.

“I’ll just run up to his place, make sure he’s all right,” he said. After bidding Sam good day, he strode out briskly for Stempel’s house, just down the road from the sawmill.

The place was quiet, unusually so. Aaron’s horse was in its stall, the saddle sitting on a hay bale and, by the look of things, uncleaned after the previous day’s use. His worry deepened and he nearly knocked the house’s door off its hinges as he flung it open. The lamp on the entry table was still lit, the oil nearly gone, a clear indication that it had burned all night.

“Aaron? Aaron? Where are you, man?” he called out, his voice sharp with worry.

The sound of wracking coughs from upstairs had him sprinting up them to find Aaron lying in his bed, shivering with some sort of ague. His clothes were scattered about the room, as if he’d dropped them as he’d removed him, atypical behavior from the fastidious Aaron Stempel. Checking the ill man’s skin, it was clear that he was feverish as well.

“Well, Aaron, you’re one sick man and there’s no mistake about that,” he said, and considered what to do next. Aaron’s nightshirt was drenched with sweat; he would be better for being stripped of them and put into a dry one. But the cough racking him was worrisome, and Jason’s mind would be easier if Dr. Wright could cast her eye over him. He could get Aaron put to rights and then fetch the doctor, but he was reluctant to leave the man alone while in such a state.

A sudden brisk knock at the front door pulled him out of his dilemma, and he was relieved to hear a high, feminine voice call out, “Mr. Stempel! Hello? Anybody home?”

Jason went to the stairs, relieved to see Biddy Clume standing in the open doorway. In her hands she clutched a steaming pot, and she peered around in search of the house’s occupant. She looked relieved as she sighted Jason.

“Oh! Jason! I was looking for Mr. Stempel,” she said with that quick chatter that she fell into when she was nervous. “Lottie was worried that he wasn’t looking well yesterday, so the girls made a batch of chicken soup, and I offered to bring it up here, and – “

He had never been so glad to see her in his life. “Biddy, thank God you’re here. I need you to run back to town and fetch Dr. Wright as quickly as possible.”

“Is Mr. Stempel all right?” she asked, eyes wide. Jason was surprised to see genuine worry there, as well as her usual avid need to know the latest gossip.

“No, he’s not. Aaron’s taken a bad turn – fever, cough, chills.”

“Oh! Is there anything I can do to help?”

Jason resisted an urge to snap, knowing that she meant well. “Yes, I need you to get the doctor while I try to make him more comfortable.”

“I can help with that!” she said brightly and started into the house.

Jason barred the way. “I’m sure you can, Miss Clume, but Mr. Stempel needs to be stripped out of his wet clothes and put into a new nightshirt, and I’m afraid it wouldn’t be proper for you to do that.”

Biddy flushed bright red and stammered, “Yes, I mean, no, of course not. I’ll just run for the doctor, shall I?” She thrust the pot into Jason’s hands and turned on her heels, racing for town.

Jason sighed as he realized the news of Aaron’s illness would be all over town before the doctor even reached her patient’s side. He shut the door and set the pot down on the nearest surface, then returned to the stricken man’s side. Experience with two younger brothers – ill, drunk, and every stage in between – made it easy for him to strip down the other man and put him into a clean nightshirt. It was not as easy to keep his interest in the proceedings clinical and detached, and by the time he had Aaron tucked back under the covers, he was flushed and in need of a distraction.

He bundled up the wet clothes and took them downstairs, put out the lamp in the entry, and filled a basin of water, then took a deep breath and returned to the ill man. He fetched clean washcloths from the linen cupboard, soaked one and wrung it out, then laid it across Aaron’s forehead. Using another dampened cloth, Jason wiped down the man’s face, his neck and chest; when it was done, he thought that perhaps Aaron was resting a little easier.

Aaron stirred, blinking open his eyes, and stared fuzzily up at him. “Jason? What…?”

“The sleeping prince awakens,” Jason said with a smile. Aaron rolled his eyes at him, then winced when the movement made his head hurt. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was run over by a wagon.” Aaron tried to sit up and Jason helped him, pilling pillow behind him to prop him up. “What are you doing here?”

“We were worried when you didn’t show up at the sawmill this morning, so I came to check on you.”

“The mill!” Aaron said, struggling to get out of bed, which triggered another round of coughing.

“The mill is fine,” Jason said, firmly pushing him back against the pillows. “Sam has everything in hand. And you need to Stay. In. Bed.”

Aaron scowled and crossed his hands, an effect that was spoiled by the flushed color of his face and his disheveled hair. Jason repressed his sudden lustful thoughts, completely inappropriate towards a sick man.

Dr. Wright arrived shortly after that and sent Jason down to wait in the parlor with Lottie while she attended her patient. She examined him carefully, taking his pulse, listening to his lungs, peering down his throat, and taking his temperature. When she was done, she dosed him with a fever reducer and went to talk with Jason and Lottie.

“He’s taken a bad chill, and there’s no doubt of that,” she said. “It hasn’t settled into his lungs – yet – so there’s some hope that it won’t develop into pneumonia. He’s going to need some careful nursing for the next few days, though.”

“I’ll organize the brides,” Lottie said briskly, her mind already turning to who would be the best suited to nursing the stubborn man. Her first choice – Candy – was expecting her first child within the next few months and not up to the rigors of nursing. Still, there were enough among the women in town and the brides in the dorm to attend to nursing duties.

“I’ve given him a draught to help reduce his fever,” Dr. Wright said, “and I’ll send more up for later, as well as a recipe for a poultice to help ease the congestion in his chest.”

Lottie turned to Jason. “Jason, do you mind staying here with Aaron until I get back with the girls?”

Jason didn’t mind. In fact, when the first pair of nurses arrived, briskly taking charge of both the sick man and his house, he found that he minded _that_ much more. Having no reason to remain, he reluctantly bid Aaron good-bye, promising to drop by that evening to check on his progress.

It couldn’t be said that his attention was on his work that day, or that his abstraction wasn’t unnoticed by his brothers. They were used to his occasional daydreaming, though, and moved around him as they attended to the daily business of the logging camp. Fortunately for the business and for his own health, his work that day didn’t involve more than reviewing the books with Joshua and marking the next stand of trees to be felled.

That evening, on his way to Lottie’s, he swung by Aaron’s place to see how he was doing. The report was mixed: his fever was down but the cough was worse, the patient’s rest was troubled. The next day’s report was much the same, although the cough was improving and he was resting better. By the third day, his condition had been upgraded to “out of danger”, and Jason no longer had any excuse for dropping by to check on him. Given that, there wasn’t much else he could do but head down to the saloon, find an isolated table, and brood over a few drinks.

Lottie eyed her brooding customer from across the bar for a while before grabbing a bottle and a glass and carrying them over to his table. “You look like a man with something unpleasant on his mind,” she said, sitting down in an empty chair.

Jason mustered up a shadow of his usual open and expansive smile. “Why, who could possibly be thinking of anything unpleasant in the company of such a fair lady?”

She gave a very unladylike snort of disbelief along with a glare. “Don’t bother trying any of your charm on me, Jason Bolt. If I don’t fall for Clancy’s blarney, you don’t even stand a chance.” She topped off his glass and filled her own, eyeing him shrewdly as she did. “When I stopped by Aaron’s place this afternoon, I heard that the doctor had been by to see him. She says that he’s out of danger.”

“So they said,” Jason said, toying with his glass before picking it up and taking a large swallow.

“So why are you looking like you just lost your best friend?”

Jason snorted and tossed off the rest of his drink. “Aaron Stempel is _not_ my best friend.”

She cocked her head. “I don’t know about that. You two have looked pretty friendly lately.”

“We’re getting along better,” Jason acknowledged. “That doesn’t make us friends.”

“Seems to me that you two have a lot in common,” she commented casually, once again filling his glass. “Two successful businessmen with no wives or sweethearts, no family obligations to fill your evening hours.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he stared across the table at her. “Just what are you implying, Lottie?”

“Me? Nothing,” she said with a shrug. “Just that it wouldn’t be a surprise for two such men to _become_ friends, spending their evenings together. Playing chess, sharing books, discussing plans for the city they both love…”

“Lottie,” Jason said carefully, trying to feel out just what she was hinting at. “Two such men, spending so much time together…people might talk.”

“So they might, given that one of them is grouchy and unsociable in general – talk about how tolerant his friend is to put up with him. Fortunately, that gentleman’s gregariousness and good-humor is well known.” She met his eyes directly. “They would need to be careful, of course. Make sure that they still argue in public, that they occasionally squire a young lady to a dance and brag about their conquests in San Francisco among the men, but over the years that won’t be necessary. Folks will just come to accept that they both confirmed bachelors and friends.”

Jason’s eyes dropped to study his drink. “You are remarkably complacent about the idea of such a friendship,” he commented. “Particularly since most would consider such a thing a dark and unforgiveable sin.” He had long ago accepted that while he found both men and women desirable, he was more attracted to men. On the frontier, it was easier to take things as they came. However, he knew that society in general abhorred what he felt as unnatural; if it was known, it would be the end of his reputation and possibly his life.

“Jason, I’ve been a lot of places and have seen a lot of things,” Lottie said. “Including sins of all kinds. And frankly, the only unforgiveable sin is in not accepting love, no matter what form it may come in.”

With that, she got up to tend to the rest of her customers, leaving Jason to mull over what she had said.

******

After thinking over Lottie’s words for most of the next day, he decided to take his courage in his hands. So instead of heading down to the saloon at the end of the day, he strolled over to Aaron’s house.

Biddy opened the door, and at the sight of him, literally breathed a sigh of relief. “Mr. Bolt! Thank goodness you’ve come! He is being Completely Unreasonable!” she said, turning her head to shout back into the house. She turned back to Jason. “Lottie says that you’re taking the night shift, and he is _not_ to get out of bed. There’s soup on the stove, and medicine on the night table if he’s in any pain.”

“I don’t want soup!” yelled a voice from upstairs. “Or gruel!”

Biddy rolled her eyes. “Honestly! That man!” She grabbed her cloak from the back of a chair and pulled it on, then went out the door. A moment later, she opened it again and stuck her head in. “Good luck!”

Jason waited a few minutes, just to make sure there wouldn’t be a second reappearance, then quietly climbed the stairs. The board on the second step from the top creaked and Aaron’s voice called out, “And I want to get out of bed!”

Jason leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “That can possibly be arranged, if you play your cards right.”

Aaron’s head jerked around, his eyes startled, then a tentative smile touched his lips. “Bolt, thank God! Those women were starting to drive me to distraction.” His hair still looked disheveled, and his face was pale instead of flushed, but Jason thought he’d rarely seen a more pleasing sight. “So, you’ve taken on the nursing duties for tonight?”

“That’s right.”

“Good,” Aaron said. “I want to get out of bed.” He started to pull the covers to one side.

“Now, Aaron, let’s not be hasty,” Jason said, pushing him back against the pillows and straightening the covers. “First, you’re going to eat that soup, then take your medicine. After that, we’ll see how you’re feeling, and perhaps you can sit in front of the fire for a bit.”

“Fine.” Aaron gave in with a sigh, then cleared his throat. “I received a new book in the last mail run, by Jules Verne. Perhaps we could take turns reading it aloud.”

Jason considered that. “Could take longer than one night.”

“I haven’t got any other plans,” Aaron said, gesturing to his surroundings. “Dr. Wright says it’ll be at least another two or three days. You?”

“No plans that I can think of,” Jason replied with a smile. _It was a start_ , he thought as he went down to the kitchen to dish out the soup.

And wherever it led, to friendship or to something more, at least they appeared to be moving in the same direction.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've seen all the HCTB episodes, as some aren't available on line or DVD, so I had to recall on my hazy memory for the name of the foreman at the sawmill and the layout of Stempel's town house. Apologies for any huge gaffs!


End file.
